“They are going to be ripping this year. I’ve got that blight down all right,” he said cheerily. “Yes, dear; well, if you think—” She hesitated. “Oh, we can manage it somehow,” he said hopefully. Constance looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “It will be useful for you to run over to Starden to see Helen—won’t it?” “Yes, to see Helen. She’s a good sort, one of the best, dear old Helen! Isn’t it ripping to have her near us again?” “She could always have come to Buddesby if she had wanted to.” “Oh, there isn’t much room there!” “But always room enough for Helen, Johnny. You haven’t told me what you think of Joan Meredyth.” She watched him out of the corners of her eyes. He stared straight ahead between the ears of the old horse. “Joan Meredyth,” he repeated, and she saw a deep flush come stealing under the tan of his cheeks. “Oh, she’s handsome, Con. She almost took my breath away. I think she is the loveliest girl I ever saw.” “Yes, and do you—” “And do I admire her? Yes, I do, but I could wish she was just a little less cold, a little less stately, Con.” “Perhaps it is shyness. Remember, we are strangers to her; she was not cold and stately to me, Johnny.” “Ah!” Johnny said, and went on staring straight ahead down the road. “Did Helen say much to you, Con?” “Oh, a good deal!” “About”—Johnny hesitated—“her?” “Yes, a little; she thinks a great deal of her. She says that at first Joan seemed to hold her at arm’s length. Now they understand one another better, and she says Joan has the best heart in the world.” “Yet she seems cold to me,” said Johnny with a sigh. Still, in spite of Joan’s coldness, he found his way over to Starden very often during the days that followed. He had picked up a small secondhand car, which he strenuously learned to drive, and thereafter the little car might have been seen plugging almost daily along the six odd miles of road that separated Buddesby from Starden. And each time he got the car out a pair of black eyes watched him with smouldering anger and passion and jealousy. A pair of small hands were clenched tightly, a girl’s heart was aching and throbbing with love and hate and undisciplined passions, as though it must break. But he did not see, though Constance did, and she felt troubled and anxious. She had understood for long how it was with Ellice. She had seen the girl’s eyes turned with dog-like devotion towards the man who was all unconscious of the passion he had aroused. But she saw it all in her quiet way, and was anxious and worried, as a kindly, gentle, tender-hearted woman must be when she notices one of her own sex give all the love of a passionate heart to one who neither realises nor desires it.